Anyone heard of angel cards? They are a product of the woo-woo culture, a novelty I’ve kept by my bedside since college (which was a long time ago, btw). Like a deck of cards, you draw one to take as your daily inspiration. They each read one word—Strength, Healing, Purpose etc. I don’t pay the…
…in which our heroine is nearly finished with final edits on her book. In between fits of terror, she is quite jublilant. Honestly, she is. (Well, she’s sure it’s coming, anyway.) Up next: online direct payday loan lenders
Tax season mournful thought for the day: “No one can stop you from writing. They can only stop you from getting paid for it.” –Bobby Moresco, Hawaii Writer’s Conference, 2009 Silver lining: writing off this.
It has been said that all fear is fear of death. I’ve managed to get my head around the fact that all negative emotions are fear. Envy is fear. Anger is fear. Anxiety is fear. But I hadn’t gotten my head around all fear being fear of death until I came to live with a…
BOUTIQUEHOTELSCROATIA.NET/BCROATIA/WS/ A postcard I sent to my parents from New York City to Oregon in October, 2008, turned up in their mailbox. (Where it has been in the interim might make an excellent plot for a novel. Or not.) My husband presented me with a tube of bacon chapstick. (Note to the manufacturer—An appealing food…
Of particular interest to anyone who has ever made-out in the back of a school bus…or wished they had… An essay from my upcoming book, Chance of Sun: A Perfectly Imperfect Oregon Upbringing, is in this month’s Oregon Quarterly Magazine. Rockin’ the Bard when the ftc comes
The chickens turned three and five last week. I am still not sure how we all got here, let alone in one piece. But I suppose every parent feels that way. At the park over the weekend, a father, while pushing his 20-month-old son in the swing, asked, “How old are your girls?” After my…
The other night I dreamt I was pregnant with my ex-boyfriend’s baby. This is impossible for many reasons, not the least of which is I haven’t laid eyes on him since 1996. (Oh, and my ten years of marriage, though I guess that doesn’t stop everybody from getting into this particular pickle). No matter—in the…
When you are four, poop is hilarious. Last night, Noodle and I corrected an overtired meltdown (hers, though some nights it’s mine) by crawling into her bed and singing a few lullabies together. It was a lovely mother-and-child moment, the sort that seems more precious to me now that she’s only days away from five,…
Recently I took the chickens to the pet store. I envisioned a fun activity with which to fill a foggy February morning. I imagined the chicken’s delight at my suggestion of a goldfish to bring home—maybe two, if I were feeling particularly magnanimous. What a good mother I am, I secretly self-congratulated. Chicken Noodle had…